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    Eleven
    Eleven
    Eleven
    Ebook163 pages2 hours

    Eleven

    By Tom Rogers

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Alex Douglas always wanted to be a hero. But nothing heroic ever happened to Alex. Nothing, that is, until his eleventh birthday. When Alex rescues a stray dog as a birthday gift to himself, he doesn't think his life can get much better. Radar, his new dog, pretty much feels the same way. But this day has bigger things in store for both of them.

    This is a story about bullies and heroes. About tragedy and hope. About enemies with two legs and friends with four, and pesky little sisters and cranky old men, and an unexpected lesson in kindness delivered with a slice of pizza.

    This is Eleven: the journey of a boy turning eleven on 9/11.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTom Rogers
    Release dateFeb 7, 2014
    ISBN9780991181032
    Eleven
    Author

    Tom Rogers

    Tom Rogers is a novelist and the screenwriter of numerous animated films, including The Lion King 11⁄2, Kronk's New Groove, LEGO: The Adventures of Clutch Powers, and Disney's Secret of the Wings. Originally from Texas, he graduated from Harvard with a degree in History and Literature. He now lives in Los Angeles with his wife and tango partner, Jennifer. Eleven is his first novel for young adults.

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    Reviews for Eleven

    4.5/5

    16 ratings3 reviews

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    • 4/5
      What an excellent read! The author skillfully navigated between different characters, and the storyline was captivating, particularly the satisfying resolution towards the book's conclusion. I appreciated the author's clever use of context clues, which added an enjoyable layer to the storytelling experience.
    • 5/5
      the book was amazing the point of view and thoughts the boy was having and his heroicness'
    • 5/5
      Eleven is one of those books that is a quick read because it holds your attention from the very beginning.Alex Douglas is almost eleven and he knows what he wants for his birthday. After all he has two things he loves. Planes and dogs. He isn’t old enough to fly a plane yet, but his parents have talked to him about being more responsible before they will get him a dog. That is the only thing he wants. The night before his birthday he really blows things. He has argued with his mom and then he tells his dad he hates him. Could things get any worse? When he wakes up the next morning on September 11th he has no idea how bad things can get. He is sure he won’t be getting a dog for his present. On the bus he becomes the target of the school bully. Shortly after school starts he is sent to pick up his sister from school and told to go to his mother’s work. No one will tell him anything. He is told to go home and not to watch the TV. Alex had seen a stray dog on his way to school and then he sees him on his way home with his sister Nunu. He is sure this is meant to be his dog. Then he learns the terrible truth about event of the day. His father drives a PATH train that stops under the Twin Towers. His last words to his dad was “I hate you.” He starts making deals. If he takes the dog back to his rightful owner, then his dad will come home safe. The strange thing is, he meets a man who lives next door to where the dog used to live. He too has been making deals in hopes his son will come home. I made it all the way to the end before I started crying. Mac, the old man and Alex for a bond that was not expected. They have a connection through the love of planes. This is a book that keeps you reading to see who will and who won’t survive. I couldn’t put the book down. The events were well researched and not too heavy for middle school students. I am proud to put this book on my shelves for my students.

    Book preview

    Eleven - Tom Rogers

    CHAPTER 1

    A-Dawg

    Monday. 5:39 p.m.

    All his life, A-Dawg had wanted to be a hero.

    Now, his time had come.

    Five seconds ago, A-Dawg had been seated squarely in the cockpit of his F-16, guiding it with ease as it knifed through the air.

    Then everything changed.

    The enemy plane came out of nowhere. A-Dawg reacted on pure instinct. The missile clipped his wing as he pulled up hard on the yoke and rolled into an inverted dive that flipped the horizon over, putting the buildings above and the sky below and turning his whole world upside down.

    The daredevil maneuver worked. When he straightened out, he’d lost his pursuer.

    He was trailing smoke and leaking fuel. He checked his gauges. If he tucked his tail and ran away, he’d have just enough juice to make it back to base.

    Or he could make the ultimate sacrifice and do what had to be done.

    He glanced at a photo of his dog, tucked into the instrument panel. The dog gazed back, loyal, proud, and brave. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks, the G forces sloshing his brain around, but A-Dawg was sure he saw his dog nod.

    A-Dawg knew what he had to do.

    He banked sharply and swung back into the fight. He was face-to-face with the enemy plane across a three-mile gap, on a collision course and closing fast. He brought the crosshairs into focus on his target. A tone sounded: radar lock.

    Then a voice crackled in his headset. Okay, hotshot, time’s up. Bring it in.

    Not yet. I have a job to do.

    "You know the rules."

    A-Dawg knew the rules. But today, the rules went out the window.

    His glove tightened on the stick. His thumb brushed the red firing button.

    The other plane fired first.

    FIRE! A-Dawg stabbed his thumb down. His airplane shook as a missile leapt off the wing, riding a trail of flame. A-Dawg banked away, straining to see behind him. Did he get the job done? Was he about to be a hero?

    He twisted in the cockpit, desperate to see what happened.

    And then everything went black.

    CHAPTER 2

    The Home Front

    Monday. 5:40 p.m.

    Alex Douglas frowned at the darkened computer. He toggled the joystick, stabbed at the keyboard, hit the red firing button. Nothing. Dead. Then he saw her in the reflection on the screen, like a white-robed ghost, arms folded.

    MOooooooOOM! he groaned, gritting his teeth.

    Alex’s mother loomed over him in her white nurse’s uniform. She had just come off a twelve-hour shift at Mercy Hospital in Jersey City and was in no mood for guff. She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him with the flopping end of the computer plug she’d just yanked out of the wall, totally crashing his Screaming Eagles IV flight-sim game in the middle of what would have been his most heroic victory EVER. He was about to save the world, but he hadn’t even had time to hit save.

    God, Mom, how can you be so STUPID???

    He didn’t really say that out loud. But he thought it so loudly he was afraid she might hear it echoing in his brain. If he had said it out loud, he probably wouldn’t have lived to see his eleventh birthday (only seven hours and fifty-one minutes away, he calculated).

    Alex had discovered over the years that he wasn’t so great at hiding his thoughts from his parents. Lately, he’d been practicing in front of the mirror, thinking of stuff that made him mad while trying to keep his feelings from showing on his face. He was pretty sure he was getting better at it.

    Don’t give me that look, said his mom. I know what you’re thinking.

    Guess there’s still room for improvement, he thought.

    What are the rules? she asked.

    Alex spotted movement out of the corner of his eye.

    Rule 1: Nunu has to stay on her side of the flight line.

    Alex pointed at his six-year-old sister, who was about to cross a black-and-yellow stripe that Alex had taped on the floor, dividing the room in two. Nunu (her real name was Nolabeth, but everyone called her Nunu) sighed and flopped back onto her bed. Everything on her side of the room was pink: pink bed, pink princess sheets, pink dolls piled up on pink pillows. Even the walls on her side were painted the color of shiny, chewed bubble gum. Alex had one word for it.

    Gross.

    The other side of the room, Alex’s side, was made of awesome. He had turned it into a shrine to the two things he loved: airplanes and dogs. Four airplane models dangled from the ceiling on strings: a huge Boeing 747, a World War II-era P-51 Mustang (its nose painted to look like a shark’s mouth), a Sopwith Camel biplane, and an F-16 Fighting Falcon, exactly like the one he was flying before his mother pulled the plug on his computer. He’d even stenciled his own call-sign, A-Dawg, onto the nose of the fighter jet. Posters of airplanes covered the walls. Over his bed, tacked to the ceiling, was a huge fold-out of a 747 cockpit; staring up at it night after night before bed, he’d memorized the location and function of every single dial and switch.

    On his dresser sat a framed photograph of the Navy’s Blue Angels elite flying squadron in close formation, signed by every pilot on the team. He got that for his birthday two years ago, when his dad took him to an air show in upstate New York. They’d gotten up super early, way before dawn, and even though he was dog-tired because he’d hardly slept the night before, he was wide awake by the time they pulled onto the air base and parked in a field near the viewing stand. It was so early the bleachers were still wet with dew – not that it mattered, because he never once sat down.

    He remembered every detail and maneuver like it had happened yesterday. Even his dad seemed impressed. Alex’s dad drove a commuter train for a living, which meant he was in charge of steering a half-million pounds of steel and aluminum through a tunnel underneath the Hudson River at seventy miles per hour, so it took a lot to impress him. In the air show finale, the Angels flew low and fast right over the crowd, four fighter jets in a tight diamond pattern, so close overhead that Alex felt like he could reach out and touch their wings. He could still remember how the roar of the engines made his insides rumble.

    Right after the Angels flew past, Alex’s dad reached down and squeezed his shoulder. Alex looked up, his fingers still in his ears to dull the roar of the jets. His dad grinned at him and mouthed one word:

    WOW.

    He had always thought of that day as his Greatest Birthday Ever.

    Until this one. This one was going to leave that year’s in the—

    Alex, answer the question.

    Alex froze. He’d totally forgotten what they were talking about.

    I asked you about the rules, she reminded him.

    "You didn’t say which rules."

    Careful, young man.

    Ugh. He hated when she called him young man. The fact that it had the word man in it didn’t really help, because the only word that mattered was young. Man was like those silent letters they’d just learned about in English class, like the s in island or the g in phlegm. He thought of it as a new part of speech: the silent man.

    His mom and dad were always telling him he needed to grow up. It was one of the things he definitely agreed with them about. Because if growing up meant getting better at hiding your feelings so you don’t get in trouble, then he was all for it. He wondered if he’d be better at it once he turned eleven.

    All he knew for sure was that growing up meant he could get a dog.

    And that’s why this was going to be his official new Greatest Birthday Ever.

    He’d been asking for a dog since forever. Last year, his parents said they’d think about getting him a dog when he was old enough to take care of one. That was all the encouragement he needed. Six months ago, he’d started his campaign, dropping hints, a steady stream of little reminders that built and built into a tidal wave. Post-its with the number of days to his birthday would mysteriously appear on his parents’ bathroom mirror. Pictures of dogs would turn up inside their favorite magazines or stuck to the refrigerator door. At two months out, he turned it up another notch, beginning almost every sentence with, When I get a dog…. "If you get a dog, his parents would correct him. But he was relentless, and before long they stopped saying If" and would just trade exasperated looks. That’s how he knew it was finally happening; he’d worn them down.

    He was definitely getting a dog for his birthday.

    Which explained the other half of Alex’s half of the room.

    The other half of Alex’s half of the room was plastered with pictures of dogs. Everywhere there wasn’t an airplane, there was a dog. To Alex, airplanes and dogs went together like peanut butter and baloney, which happened to be his favorite sandwich. When he wasn’t playing flight-sim or memorizing cockpit dials or throwing dirty socks at Nunu to keep her on her side of the flight line, he’d stare at all the pictures and daydream about how cool it would be if a dog could fly a pla—

    "Alex

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